Second Thoughts
by gschelt
Summary: Ginny hates Fleur. Fleur is about to get married to Ginny's brother. But some things can't be helped, especially spontaneous attraction. Ginny/Fleur femslash. please read and review. ALL CHAPTERS COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**: This story was one of several that were lost when my flash drive deleted everything it had on it, but I was able to rescue the first 2 chapters from my Livejournal. There was originally a 3rd chapter, unpublished, but sadly that's lost forever. The 3rd chapter was a bit shorter than the other 2, and though it had a dark moment or two, it was quite fluffy. (A happily ever after was involved, I believe.)  
The writing in this story is a bit different than my usual; that's because this is about a year old. Still, even with 1/3 of it missing, this story is my longest and one of my favorite. _

* * *

The walls inside the Weasley house are paper-thin. Ginny can hear her brother and his fiancée arguing from the room next to hers as she lies awake in twilight, arms folded behind her head as she lies facing the ceiling. He lamp is still on; one of Ron's Quidditch books lies open on her bedside table. But instead of finishing the chapter on feints and fake outs, she yawns and keens her ears to the muffled sounds from next door, feeling tempted to use a charm to eavesdrop better. Not doing so because it's immoral and because she is underage.

She can't make out the words, but almost every night for several weeks it's been the same white noise. Fleur's voice, soft and tentative. Bill's rougher, more familiar voice. Suspicious. Fleur again, defensive. Then the whispers escalate.

Ginny has a pretty good idea of what the whole thing is all about. It doesn't take a rocket scientist, or whatever it's called, to figure out. Fleur, because she's honest, (Honesty being one thing she's got going for her besides looks. And damn good looks.) tells Bill what's on her mind when she's feeling nervous or doubtful about marriage.

Grudgingly, Ginny supposes Fleur loves him. She pulls a face when she remembers it's mutual.

Then she pictures Bill fingering a pale pink gouge on his left cheek, a recent habit of his, making a connection between Fleur's apprehension and his own facial disfigurement. His voice is quiet but sibilant as he indirectly accuses her of being shallow. Ginny knows he is over sensitive lately, and suspects this must be why they argue so much, but a rather savage Ginny can so readily picture flighty, high-maintenance, bloody _gorgeous_ Fleur shrinking away from Bill because his once-handsome face is now a nightmare.

Yes, it gives Ginny a vicious satisfaction to convince herself that Fleur is as spineless and soulless as she is flawless. Lord, but she has _got_ to stop thinking about that creamy skin. That white gold hair that matches the wedding band on her hand.

She rolls over on her bed and dangles an arm over the side, brushing the floor. Fleur is a git. Ginny isn't in love with her. She just likes the way the Frenchie looks, and she _knows_ she's not gay, thank you very much. Wanting to run her fingers through the bloody debutante's hair does not constitute as homosexuality.

Ginny snorts into the pillow, biting the fabric and thinking of how absurd the idea of her being gay is. Besides, she's got Harry. Dear, sweet, beautiful Harry, and he's just up the stairs in the attic bedroom with Ron, isn't he?

She stifles a spontaneous giggle in the pillow as she randomly imagines the preposterous circumstances of Harry and her brother "procreating" behind closed doors. She would almost certainly castrate Harry for doing such a thing to her if it were true. This time, she has to squeeze her eyes shut to choke the fit of giggles threatening to bubble out. Yes, she would be mad at Harry. And why? Because she would be jealous. That proves she's straight, so there.

Ginny is yanked out of her day (night) dream by the ominous sound of soft footfalls creaking the old floorboards in the hallway. She pricks her ears tensely. The footsteps are approaching her bedroom.

"Damn!" she seethes. It must be mum coming to make sure she's not still awake at this unholy hour. Ginny lunges over to switch off the lamp before she's caught, but she miscalculates her aim and knocks it over.

"Damn!" she repeats in a whisper, scrabbling to replace the lamp on the bedside table. That's when there's a tentative knock at the door. _Dead_, Ginny tells herself.

But it's not her mum who pokes her head round the doorway. It's Fleur, radiant and loathsome in some flowy, lacy pink number and matching slippers. Ginny lets out a relieved sigh, shifting from scared witless to just annoyed. _Oh, it's just Phlegm._

"What?" she hisses, narrowing her eyes at her future sister-in-law.

Fleur sniffs. "Just being sure you are asleep," she says, rather tentatively. Ginny frowns as she puts the lamp back on the stand. _Good, nothing broke_. Then she turns to give Fleur a withering look.

"I'm not a kid, Fleur. My bedtime's not nine."

Fleur shrugs and casts her eyes about the room. So maddeningly airy. "Eet is very late. You should sleep," she says as though she's telling Ginny something she ought to know, ought to listen to and take notes. Ginny rolls her eyes and starts getting under the covers.

"Thanks Phle- Fleur," she says petulantly. "I'll be sure to do that."

Fleur nods and breezes out of the room. It is only after that light is shut out five minutes later that Ginny realizes that the blonde was slightly subdued, and her eyes had been red-rimmed.

* * *

The next day is a swelteringly sun kissed morning when Ginny's fingers find the blinds. She throws them back and blinks back the jaggedly bright sunrays. Sighing, she rests her head against and the windowpane. She really is not looking forward to another day of pomp and circumstance leading up to the prodigal wedding. Too much needs to be done, and all she wants to do is relax. _Not gonna happen_, she thinks. Realistically, at that. But what can she do, fake sick? Fake sick at her own house?

"Brilliant," Ginny mumbles mischievously, her sunlight-reflecting spun fire hair coming down a level to dull copper as she fiddles with the blinds to block out the damned sunlight. Then she is tiptoeing out the door and into an empty room down the hall.

* * *

Half of a fever fudge later, the other crumpled half sweating under her pillow, Ginny is draped pathetically on her bed, up to her chin in quilts. Her mum flits around the room.

"Terrible, this is terrible. Poor dear," she mutters, absently straightening her top quilt. "And all of us were going to Diagon Alley today, too."

"Well, don't let me hold you back," Ginny says feebly.

"Oh, dear, no," Mrs. Weasley frets, straightening Ginny's pillow _(pleasedon'tfindthefudge)_. "I couldn't leave you all alone, sick as you are."

Ginny wishes her mum would hurry up and leave already. Take a fistful of Floo Powder to Diagon Alley so she can read or maybe fly around the orchard for a bit. But mainly she wants to wolf down the rest of the fudge and get her temperature back down to normal. She is about to spout something feeble to throw mum off the scent of her sickness being trickery, (something she is very paranoid about right now) when she realizes this change of character would be more telling than some backbone. _Please. The thermometer speaks enough for itself_.

"Mum, I'm sixteen," she protests pointedly, the hectic flushes on her cheeks like twin flames. "Is that still too young to stay home alone for one day?" Protesting in true Ginny fashion, she ponders, is an example of superb tactics.

Her mum's brow furrows. "Well, we'll see. Maybe someone can stay behind with you."

Ginny sighs languidly, inwardly satisfied with what she is able to get away with. Whoever it is who stays behind to baby-sit her could be manipulated, as long as it isn't her mother. And since Mrs. Weasley is the brains of the whole operation, there is no way she will stay behind with one ill child, who is sixteen by the way, in case anyone has forgotten.

By the time Mrs. Weasley bustles out of the room, Ginny figures the coast is clear for her to cure herself. Procuring the healing half of the fever fudge, she finishes it smugly. Utterly relaxed, she decides to drift off for a bit until the house has emptied out. Before falling asleep, she dreamily tells herself that Fred and George are inventing geniuses.

* * *

Waking up from the cozy and dreamless sleep is hazy for Ginny. Fluttering her creaky eyelashes, she drifts from her torpor, wondering why her mum hasn't woken her up hours ago. But it's barely a second before she remembers the genius of her very own plan to play hooky. She rolls onto her stomach, breathing a warm and contented grin into her pillow. This was just too easy.

With agility surprising for one just waking up, she hops from her quilted bed, planting her feet firmly on the floor. As she throws on a sweater and a pair of jeans, she hums one of her favorite songs by the Weird Sisters, who just happen to be sashaying about on several different posters on her wall.

Fastening the zipper on her jeans, Ginny steps back to carefully study her reflection. "Well, Ginny, what shall we do today?" she asks the mirror cheerfully. "Lunch?" she suggests to herself, tossing her hair for her reflection. "Or… Quidditch?" She examines her face. "Or… a bit of snooping?" She turns sideways, examining how her chest looks in this particular sweater. A playful smile crosses her freckly face. "But what order to do it all in?"

Ginny bounces down the stairs, reveling in how pleasant it is to do things at her own leisure. She savors it just as she savors the unusual peace in the normally bustling house. She enjoys it as she sings the way she never would with people around. And she relishes it at a comfortable pace as she fixes herself a sandwich, complete with relish.

After a leisurely luncheon, Ginny deposits her plate in the sink, out of habit. She considers the empty kitchen for a moment, at a loss for what to do next. She could go for a fly on Ron's broom, or maybe curl up in one of the good (and always occupied) armchairs with a good book. Tempting, but these are things she could always do when others are home. She knows it's a good idea to take advantage of this rare opportunity when she has free rein of the house. She doesn't bother stifling the mischievous grin that springs to her lips as she licks mustard from her fingertips. _It's time to do a bit of detective work._

Catlike, Ginny takes the creaky stairs two at a time. She pauses at the first landing. This hallway is Percy's vacant room, Charlie's old bedroom, in use once again, and her parents' bedroom. Normally she would avoid Percy's room, a harbor to bitter memories of her estranged brother, but this summer it's occupied by Hermione.

For the first time at the Burrow in the summer, Hermione opted to have her own room, instead of sharing with Ginny like usual. Ginny's not stupid; she knows Harry, Ron, and Hermione are planning something. Planning to go on a secret mission, she's heard. This is why Hermione wants privacy. She doesn't want Ginny knowing much. But Ginny's not her mother. She won't desperately try to hold them back. She wouldn't tell, either. She just wants a little light shed on the subject so she's not in the dark, worrying about three of her closest friends, when they've gone.

So she tries the door. She's surprised for a moment when it's locked, but then she ruefully admits to herself that it's smart thinking. Bewitching the door securely locked would keep Mrs. Weasley out, who could all too easily pop in for some "cleaning" and discover something she ought not. It seems she won't be getting inside any time soon, so Ginny lets her hand drop, defeated, and moves on.

She knows there'll be nothing of interest in Charlie's room, but she pokes her head in just to be sure. All she finds is clothes, lots of dragon paraphernalia, and an unfinished letter to Hagrid. This letter has nothing to do with the Order of the Phoenix, which Ginny was hoping it would be. It's just a friendly correspondence based on a mutual interest in magical creatures and memories of Charlie's days at Hogwarts. She lets the door click shut behind her after only a minute, moving on to her parents' bedroom.

It's more disappointing in there than Ginny thought it would be. Her heart leaps when she sees several Ministry envelopes lying on the bureau, but they're nothing important. Just memos from Perkins. Ginny throws the memos back on the bureau in frustration. Stomping out into the hallway, she runs a hand through her hair. This expedition is a waste of time. She hasn't unearthed anything interesting yet. Maybe, she thinks, she ought to give up this silly game and go outside for some air_. Fresh air is good for the sick, remember?_ She tells herself irritably.

She heads back to the stairs but pauses on the landing, gazing up the stairs. There is still upstairs; Bill and Fleur's Room, Fred and George's, Harry and Ron's. Grimacing, Ginny is torn. The room Harry and Ron share is very tempting; especially since they're nowhere near clever enough to guard it like Hermione has done hers. After a moment more of consideration, Ginny gives in. She'll have one last poke around on the third floor.

After creeping up the second flight of stairs, she considers the empty hall. Four doorways, and two of them are of interest. Her own room, obviously, isn't worth exploring. Neither is Fred and George's room. Since the twins don't live in the house permanently anymore, all they'll have brought are some clothes and perhaps a Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze or two. So that left Harry and Ron's room, and Bill and Fleur's shared room. She wants to take the rooms in order, but the boys' room at the end of the hall is just too tempting. What sorts of mysteries lurked in the living space of the famous Harry Potter? Fighting back the urge to dash down the hallway and tear the room from top to bottom, as she had actually once done at Hogwarts in her first year, she creeps down the hall and quietly turns the doorknob.

The first thing Ginny notices is how filthy it is. There are robes, books, potion vials, sneakers, and, oh God, _boxer_ shorts strewn all about the floor and beds and most of the horizontal surfaces. She tiptoes through the foreign environment, gazing at her surroundings with a mixture of shock, revulsion, and wonder. She gets over the mess rather easily, having lived in the Burrow all her life, after all, but the confounding part is how they managed it when her mum had cleaned just the day before.

Ginny shrugs and gets to the task of figuring out how to tackle this insurmountable clutter. She gives up on investigative tactics and just begins pawing through the carpet of offal swallowing her up to her ankles. Once more, there is nothing of interest, unless you count a pair of heart-patterned boxers as interesting.

"Alright then, Harry," she mutters darkly, wading through the clothing. "The trunk it is."

Upon reaching Harry's trunk, Ginny is surprised at the way it is blithely opened wide, with socks oozing out like vomit. One would think that the Boy Who Lived had reason to be a little more paranoid. Still, she isn't complaining. At least it isn't bewitched shut. Rubbing her hands together in anticipation, she begins rummaging through the trunk.

There's not much in there, but there are some interesting facts she's gleaned from the search. For example, Harry completely forgot to bring his Hogwarts robes. Imagine that. There are quite a few Muggle clothes packed away. If that isn't a blatant hint that someone isn't planning on going to Hogwarts, Ginny doesn't know what is.

Aside from the lack of robes, Ginny also finds a sneakoscope, a suspicious-looking book about something called a Horcrux, a carefully wrapped shard of glass that nearly slices Ginny's hand off, and a pair of knobbly yellow socks.

Ginny straightens back up and nimbly picks her way back to the doorframe of the room. Ron's belongings aren't worth going through. Ginny knows he's in no way the brains of this secret mission, whatever it is, so his things won't be very fruitful. She didn't get a whole lot from searching through Harry's things either, but at least now she has more bearings than she did before she went on this hunt.

She decides it's time to round off this particularly abysmal excursion by going through the very last room. She's been disappointed in every other room so far, so there is no reason this last one should be any different. It would only be fair to give Bill and Fleur's room a chance.

Tiptoeing down the hall, Ginny pauses at the last stop on her journey. A journey that ought to be nearly over. "Let's get this over with," she breathes quietly, then puts a hand on the slightly ajar door and pushes lightly.

The door swings open with a thin creak, trailing off into silence as Ginny backs into the room. Her eyes travel over the décor and linens before she sees, with a start, something quite out of place. It's a person.

Ginny freezes at the sight of Fleur. The French woman is laying fast asleep in the twin bed, curled up upon the right side with the nearby window streaking her peaceful face with radiant slants of sunlight. Ginny pauses for a second, not daring to move, but Fleur doesn't wake up. How come Phlegm is here? Shouldn't she be in Diagon Alley with the rest of the troupe? A brick settles in Ginny's stomach as she recalls her mum mentioning leaving someone behind earlier that morning. How did Fleur get chosen for babysitting? Did she volunteer so she could escape too? Or was it because she wanted to keep an eye on Ginny? Or was she sick as well, and Mrs. Weasley thought they could take care of each other? Ginny shrugs. There's no way to find out with Fleur asleep. She is about to leave and go find something better to do, but something about the image in front of her snags Ginny, reeling her back like a fish on a line and propelling her half a slow and curious step forward.

Cautiously, Ginny creeps forward a pace or two, fascinated by the way something as simple as morning sunlight could transform a pretty face into a work of art. The distilled serenity of the whole picture settles comfortably in Ginny's mind the same way she drops into a leather armchair before the Common Room fireplace. All elements in the moment complement each other perfectly, like the ethereal quality of Fleur's face in repose, the dust motes swimming peacefully in shafts of sunlight next to the bed, and the foreign sensation Ginny has of the pit of her stomach crumpling a bit. She sighs and tucks back a stray strand of gingery hair, taking a few more steps closer to the occupied side of the bed. She bends down curiously to inspect this masterpiece a bit more closely, or perhaps to inhale the smell of Fleur's white-gold tresses, but before she knows what she's doing, her eyes are half closed, her face is a mere inch from Fleur's, and then her lips brush the other's as soft as the whisper of Ginny's eyelashes grazing Fleur's cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

...Fleur Delacour feels herself slipping into reality slowly and comfortably. The warm breath of sunlight and the pleasant smell of perfume ebb and flow in her senses, stirring other parts of her consciousness. Her awareness of how safe she feels awakens first. It seems that the long nap has made last night nothing but a distant nightmare, the arguments and tears forgotten.

Fleur's eyelashes flutter slightly, for she is now aware of the curious sensation that feels like a delicate butterfly resting on her lips. For a moment it is a butterfly, then she realizes it's another set of lips brushing her own softly. It's Bill, she reasons, remorseful for last night's accusations, doubling back from Diagon Alley to kiss all of her worries away. But Bill's kiss isn't so hesitant, his lips not nearly as soft as these rose petals Fleur feels. With Bill's ponytail, there isn't a tendril of hair grazing her neck, as there is now. This isn't Bill, but since Fleur's hardly awake, she could care less whose lips they are as long as they stay pressed to hers. It all feels so right, she doesn't bother to wonder why there's a faceless stranger kissing her in her bed. Without opening her eyes, or even fully rising from the haze of her sleep, she parts her lips slightly and slips her tongue out to taste this stranger, kissing back.

The sensation of this deliciously soft kiss is unlike anything Fleur has ever experienced before, asleep or awake. She's unsure which world she's caught in, dream or reality, but it hardly matters. She's never tasted another person so delicate before, never felt skin so soft grazing her own. It's sensational, but slightly odd. She is, as she recalls, staying in the Weasley house. Yes, that's right. Well, it reasons that right now she is sharing a slow, gentle kiss with someone who is staying at the Burrow. This thought strikes home. Her eyelids stir faintly. _I think I'm waking up now,_ Fleur tells herself absently. Her eyes slowly flicker open. _This is red hair. These are freckles. These are glossed lips._

_This is Ginny._

Fleur seems to watch herself being kissed with wide eyes for a moment or two before she pulls away in shock. Ginny looks just as surprised as Fleur does, looking at Fleur as though she's just appeared out of thin air. Fleur sits up abruptly, thinly veiled revulsion etched on her expression. "What are you-"

"I'm sorry," Ginny interrupts, looking more sheepish than remorseful. "I didn't know what I..." she breaks off awkwardly. She tears her gaze away from the carpet to glower at Fleur guiltily. At least, that's the expression Fleur reads at first, but she's almost sure there's regret flickering under those hazel eyes.

Ginny is still slightly hunched over, her curtain of gingery hair swaying against her face. She stands up straight very cautiously, a look of fear in her eyes not unlike the disbelief present in one who has just murdered someone. Fleur can't believe she just made out with her fiancée's younger sister. The sweet taste that lingers on her lips turns sour at the thought. She knows she should say something, but nothing comes to mind so she just sits there with her cheeks burning, looking at the girl with a big question mark for an expression. Finally, Fleur's brain starts working, but perhaps it's for the need to shatter this unbearably uncomfortable silence.

"I think we need to talk," Fleur says in a dead voice. She tries not to meet Ginny's eyes.

"Okay," Ginny says curtly. "I can do that." Fleur can sense the mask of rebellion that Ginny always wears when talking to her. If the redhead truly can't stand her, then why did she put the moves on her?

"I want for you to understand," Fleur begins cautiously, "that I am sorry, but I am not like that." She toys with the covers, feeling more awkward by the second. How in the world does one establish firm boundaries to a lovestruck teenager _of the same gender_?

Ginny rolls her eyes at Fleur and clenches her fists slightly. "Fleur, I didn't think for one second that I was like that either, but there I was, and it felt right." She looks exasperated, as usual, but her gaze holds a characteristic intensity. "And you can't disagree with me there."

Fleur frowns uneasily. "Can't I?" she counters, returning Ginny's gaze unsteadily. She wants to be anywhere but here, engaging in this predicament. The tiny voice in her head telling her that she enjoyed it is more than she can bear. _This was wrong_, she tells herself firmly. _Wrong, wrong, wrong. I know how slimy I feel right now, so why am I feeling any doubt whatsoever?_

Ginny lets out a scornful peal of laughter. "That's rich," she says, eyeing Fleur beadily. "Did you forget how you kissed me back?"

"You are Bill's sister," Fleur snaps, "and you are a child. I am not attracted to you."

Ginny narrows her eyes at Fleur, steely expression blazing at her. "I don't want to date you, Phlegm. I just don't want you to lie to yourself by saying you didn't like it." She tilts up her chin proudly. "Besides, I'm the same age you were when you were in the Triwizard Tournament. I'm not a child."

The passion Fleur sees in Ginny's angry eyes is so much like the fire she sees in Bill's, something that she finds irresistible in him. Fleur wants to look away but can't.

"I am not gay," Fleur says stubbornly, flinching very slightly at saying the hated word.

Ginny hardly blinks, continuing to glare at Fleur. "Neither am I," she says levelly. "But I acted in the moment and it felt right."

Fleur's jaw clenches. She wishes none of this had happened, she wishes she doesn't believe a word Ginny is saying. "I felt nothing," she says coolly_. Now please leave_, she thinks desperately.

But Ginny doesn't leave. If she is discouraged, she doesn't show it. She merely takes several slow steps forward. "You're lying to me," she says quietly. "And yourself."

"No," Fleur protests. "I am not, Ginny."

"I know," Ginny continues, still moving forward silently, "because you're denying far too much for someone who is being accused of nothing." Her mouth curls up into a coy and knowing smile.

"No," Fleur repeats firmly, her voice cracking slightly, as Ginny approaches far too close. "I am not." Her body stiffens as Ginny stops before her, leaning down and forward on Fleur's level with a steely gaze.

"Why don't you prove it," Ginny challenges softly, barely an inch from Fleur's trembling lips. And this time she kisses her properly, placing both hands on either one of Fleur's shoulders as she connects. Fleur's terrified body is tense as a coiled spring, barely giving way at all when Ginny pushes forward against her, but she slowly seems to melt under the delicious rhythm of Ginny's tongue. _Wrong_, Fleur's inner voice protests feebly, but she can barely hear it over the sound of the blood pumping in her ears. She was right before, when she was half-asleep. This sensation is far different, far more intense than anything she had ever got from Bill, or anyone else, for that matter. And this kiss is different from the one they shared before.

Before, Ginny's lips seemed to be the sweetest thing Fleur had ever tasted, and the kiss was soft and delicate. This time, Ginny tastes raw and salty, and her kiss leaves Fleur's mouth feeling scorched. Fleur's head is telling her to stop this instant, but her stomach is doing backflips that tell her to do quite the contrary. And the taboo zone between her legs is beginning to tingle unexpectedly. Suddenly she throws caution to the wind.

"_D'accord_," Fleur breathes into Ginny's searching mouth. And soon following is Fleur's commiserating tongue, matching Ginny's blow for blow in a struggle where they would both surely be winners. Fleur's is unsure what to do with her hands in this situation, but she follows her intuition and snakes her left up the front of Ginny's shirt, sliding her palm against Ginny's smooth, athletic stomach, letting her graceful white fingers crawl on the other's small breasts.

Ginny purrs and nips at Fleur's lower lip, causing Fleur to kiss Ginny even more hungrily. She traces circles on Ginny's waist, the irresistible pelvic area. But Ginny fumbles with Fleur's hands, pushing them away clumsily as she breathes quickly. Before Fleur can wonder, Ginny pushes her backwards, ending up astride her on the bed. Fleur steals a few more desperate kisses before Ginny pulls back and sits up, panting slightly.

"Why-" Fleur starts, but Ginny cuts her off by tearing off her own sweater and t-shirt, and staggering out of her jeans, leaving her in a simple cotton bra and panties. Ginny doesn't bother waiting for Fleur to undress herself; she takes the bottom of Fleur's skimpy nightdress and tugs it over her head. Fleur has a split second, head enveloped in the pink material, to remember she isn't wearing panties, and another second as the nightdress is flung across the bed to wonder why that would matter.

As Ginny leans back on her knees, fingers splayed on Fleur's stomach and a predatory gleam in her eyes, Fleur's inner voice gives one more plea of protest. _Bill's sister. Bill's little sister. My wedding is in a week._ But the sounds are fading down a long tunnel, like a radio being tuned out. All she can hear, all she wants to hear, is the engulfing sound of their restless panting. A jet of air, practically steam, exhales out of her nostrils and she reaches out with both hands to grasp both sides of Ginny's gingery head of hair. There's no going back now.

A look of savage anticipation on her face, Fleur pushes Ginny's head down against her abdomen. Ginny's chin digs into Fleur's pelvic bone, her breath misting on Fleur's navel. Ginny is no longer the apologetic criminal she was minutes ago as she teases Fleur's pelvic bone with shameless kisses. And as her tongue slowly traces paths of fire up the smooth white skin of Fleur's stomach, Fleur shudders and toys with her hands in Ginny's hair, tangling it further.

As Ginny's mouth travels up the front of Fleur's body, she pauses at Fleur's lacy black bra. Flickering her eyes at Fleur impatiently, she waits as long as she can seem to stand as Fleur fumbles with the straps on her shoulders. After what seems like a restless age, the straps finally fall away. Fleur grabs the bra and tosses it behind her, off the bed, now leaving her utterly nude. Ginny bites her lower lip in a malicious smile, dipping her head back down to let her breath steam against the cleft between Fleur's breasts.

Fleur can't tell if it's Ginny's or her own anxious panting that's echoing in her ears, but it hardly makes a difference since they are nearly the same person now. The two stomachs pressed flat against each other are unintelligible, the tongue connected to the nipple it's teasing. But now Fleur is restless and impatient, she wants to do more than just lay here on her back being pleasured. She plunges one hand into Ginny's hair again, the other slithering south towards the elastic of Ginny's panties.

Ginny looks up in alarm as Fleur suddenly rolls over, flipping Ginny onto her back. Now Fleur is on top of Ginny, their faces grazing and bodies flat atop each other. Fleur gives Ginny one hot, open-mouthed kiss before she crawls backward. Ginny's eyes are raw with desire as Fleur slides back onto her knees and crouches into Ginny's. Fleur's right hand stretches out and latches on the elastic of Ginny's panties. Ginny, with her own right hand, reaches down and helps Fleur tug off her panties. Fleur disentangles the cotton from Ginny's ankles and parts Ginny's legs. Once more, Fleur's conscience screams in protest, but she ignores it as she slowly dismounts the bed, perching on her knees on the floor just next to the bedside. Ginny sits up expectantly and leans over towards Fleur, who takes a deep breath before she dives into Ginny's thighs.

Fleur tastes Ginny's sensitive flesh hungrily, feeling the redhead shudder above her. Now it's her turn to drive Ginny wild with her relentless tongue. She finds Ginny's clit quickly, sore with anticipation. It's only a short matter of time until she falls into a steady rhythm of pushing and pulling with her tongue. Ginny's hips gyrate, meeting Fleur in the middle with each pulsation of the rhythm. But Fleur picks up the pace, tongue swirling mercilessly, and soon Ginny is bucking under the intensity of the tattoo Fleur is establishing.

Fleur's hands are wrapped tightly around Ginny's waist and Ginny's fingernails are digging into Fleur's scalp. Fleur can feel the excitement mounting, the pressure building as Ginny climaxes. As the motions grow more frenzied, yin and yang fall away and the two are just one pale skin, one rocking body and one boiling blood. Fleur is lifted higher on the tail of Ginny's ascending cloud, higher, higher, then time stands still as Ginny cries out, a jet of hot steam in the sweat-choked air.

Ginny embraces Fleur's head, panting, as Fleur falls gently back down to earth, licking the salty taste of Ginny from her teeth and lips. She tilts her head upward to look into Ginny's warm eyes, and their gazes connect with rueful satisfaction. Ginny is hunched over, her hair a curtain that hides Fleur from the room, with her arms draped over Fleur's back. Their foreheads bump, both exhausted, but being so close, their lips gravitate to each other magnetically. The kiss, like the very first one, is sweet and gentle despite the tang of cold sweat mingling on their lips.

Pulling away from the sweet embrace to bite her lip, Fleur reaches out and smoothes back Ginny's hair. It is a gesture that normally irritates Ginny, but now she merely smiles coyly. Motioning to Fleur, she rolls over and edges to the head of the bed. Fleur follows her lead and crawls onto the bed after her. As Ginny peels the covers from the mattress and burrows under the blankets, Fleur follows close behind her, joining the redhead in the age-old sanctuary of a warm bed. Now facing each other once more, Fleur loops an arm over Ginny's back and pulls her closer. They share a secret smile with each other.

The excited panic of their sudden lust has evaporated, and now that the red cloud of desire has lifted from her vision, Fleur can see how truly beautiful Ginny is. Her lover, which she can now be classified as, is an open book gazing down at her. Ginny's guard is down; the rebellious defense she puts up has vanished. Now all Fleur can see are her heartbreakingly vulnerable eyes, her shy and utterly trusting smile. Fleur wonders how she had never noticed such a breathtaking soul in four years of knowing her, wonders how it is that Ginny was always a willowy shadow flitting about in the background of her life with the Weasley family. The impudent girl that had always exasperated her is still there, yes, still present in the lively gleam in Ginny's eyes, but no longer does it belong to a baffling tomboy. Fleur now recognizes the dynamic spirit behind that animated demeanor, those scuffed jeans, those defiant eyes, and it pulls her closer than Bill's protection and broad shoulders ever could.

Ginny and Fleur gaze dreamily at each other, smiling contentedly. Fleur stifles a languid yawn, thoroughly tired out from her licentious activities. Ginny mirrors Fleur a few moments later, since yawns are contagious. Serious judgments about the sensibility in what has just occurred begin to gnaw at Fleur's mind, but the easy perfection in simple sensations such as the smooth contact of their legs or the gentle lull of their steady respiration causes her to brush the nagging doubts aside and just exist in this moment. The last thing Fleur sees before she drops into a doze is the serenity of Ginny's trusting hazel eyes, and all is right in the world.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **This is not where the story would end, had I the last chapter still. But chapter 3 is gone forever (see A/N on chapter 1 for more explanation) and this is where it ends.  
If you were wondering, chapter 3 includes Fleur's indecision about marrying Bill because she has feelings for Ginny. In the end, she decides to marry Bill... so that she can remain close to Ginny and they can carry on their affair. The whole thing is quite fluffy, if you ask me. ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:** Oh my god, I can't believe I actually recovered this file! I know it's not a masterpiece (written over a year ago... my writing style was pretty different back then), but I'm stoked that I can publish the final chapter. Yeah, it's weird to read and think that I wrote this, to me. It's super fluffy (gag) and really long, compared to what I write now. I'm a little bummed that I kinda gave away the ending in the A/N of Chapter 2, but hey, that's when I thought this chapter was lost forever. Please enjoy, and don't hold back your reviews. :)_

* * *

Sometime after crawling into bed to lay with her brother's fiancée, Ginny fell asleep. Her eyes flutter open for the third time that day, and for a brief moment she wonders what time it is with slight panic, wondering if the Weasley clan and its guests could possibly have come home yet. But the bedside clock reads early afternoon; they've only been asleep in Fleur's bed for an hour or so. Ginny sighs contentedly and buries her face in Fleur's sweet-smelling blonde hair, squeezing Fleur's waist with her arms, already wrapped around comfortably. She can distantly remember falling asleep facing Fleur, for the last thing she recalls are her blue eyes, but she woke up in this relaxed position. It doesn't matter, though, for at least they are close.

A minute later, Ginny feels Fleur stirring slightly. The blonde is waking up, making small morning noises in her throat. Ginny smiles and leans over, hugging Fleur close, and breathes in her ear.

"Good morning," she whispers.

Fleur stretches luxuriously and turns towards Ginny slightly, reaching for Ginny's hand on her shoulder.

"Bill…" Fleur murmurs, almost purring.

Ginny smiles reproachfully and givers Fleur's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "No," she whispers, "It's me."

"Hmmm?" Fleur's expression is blurry and clouded with sleep as she looks into Ginny's face, not seeming to recognize her.

Ginny leans over Fleur's perplexed and groggy face and plants a warm kiss on her irresistible lips. Fleur, taken by surprise by Ginny's kiss once again, lies frozen for a moment, then melts and reciprocates. When Ginny pulls away, Fleur is beaming up at her.

"Ah, Ginny," she sighs.

Ginny smiles. "I thought that would jog your memory."

"What time is eet?" Fleur asks Ginny, starting to get out of bed. Ginny reaches out for her and pulls her back down.

"It's only ten after one," Ginny replies. "No one will be back for hours, so we can relax." She flashes a secret smile and draws Fleur in for another open-mouthed kiss. It lasts a minute or so, then Fleur leans back with a sheepish expression on her face.

"I don't know about thees," she says hesitantly.

Ginny's stomach feels hollow. She hopes Fleur isn't backing out of what is starting to be something good. If after all that, Fleur thought it was a mistake, Ginny would die. She is starting to feel something towards Fleur more than sex. She puts a light hand on Fleur's leg.

"I don't know about this either, Fleur," Ginny says slowly. "I'm not pretending to know where this is headed. But I know it's good. It has to be good. I can feel it's right." She bores into Fleur's clear blue eyes, searching for understanding.

Fleur smiles weakly but turns her head away. "Before, eet was so simple," she begins. "I was engaged to Bill, and I loved him." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "Now, I am not so sure about even that."

Guilt begins to seep into Ginny's gut. She had barely thought about how this fling with Fleur might strain or even break off the engagement. As much as she wants Fleur to choose her over Bill, she doesn't want Bill to get hurt. It would kill him to be dumped after his disfigurement. But still, Ginny fears her own rejection. She wants for her own happiness as much as she wants it for Bill. At this point, Ginny feels like the worst sister in the world.

"Is it…" She hesitates. "Is it my fault?"

Fleur stares at the mattress. "Maybe eet ees," she says quietly. Ginny's heart leaps and sinks at the same time. "But there were our arguments before,"Fleur continues. "We were becoming unsure of each other." She pauses again. "But then again, maybe you do add to eet after all. I was so sure I was going to marry 'im before today. Before today."

Ginny feels a lump in her throat. "Are you going to marry him?"" she asks tentatively, hardly daring to hope.

"Now I do not know," Fleur answers quietly. She does not meet Ginny's eyes. "I think… I think maybe eet ees a bad idea when I am having feelings for someone else." With this, Fleur buries her face in Ginny's shoulder. "I just don't know," she mumbles into Ginny's neck.

Ginny places her hand on Fleur's head and softly strokes her light blonde hair. "I know you will choose what you think is right. But Fleur…" She pauses, inhaling the sweet smell of Fleur's hair. "…I love you."

Ginny can barely hear herself, and wonders if Fleur can make out the hesitant words. But in once second, she knows Fleur heard her confession from the way the blonde tilts up her head and gazes up at Ginny, her eyes shining with trust. Ginny places one finger under Fleur's chin and gently pulls her closer. Their lips meet, sweet static, and all the impossible decisions melt away. All they know in the world is this moment, and each other.

The rest of the afternoon floats by in the bed. Ginny and Fleur simply lay there, talking about nothing and everything for hours, stealing kisses from each other every so often.

* * *

Two days pass in a standstill. Everyone in the household seems to be moving underwater, unaware that the youngest Weasley and the oldest Weasley's fiancée are having an affair right under their noses. For that is just what they are doing. Fleur and Ginny go through their pre-wedding duties in a pantomime, doing their chores with a secret glow in their hearts and a sly smile that lingers on their faces. Unlike Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who seem to be steered away from each other by their busy working routine, Ginny and Fleur always have some way to find each other. Whether it's sneaking a short, open-mouthed kiss while they do the dishes, or whether it's a quick romp under the covers of Ginny's bed just before Mrs. Weasley makes her nighttime patrol of the hallways, they find their ways to slip under the radar. It's dangerous and forbidden and exciting for those reasons. The danger of being caught in the act puts a bit of fire into their activities, and that's what makes the secret affair so delicious.

But Fleur knows she's kidding herself when she tries to put off the inevitable task of choosing Bill or Ginny. There are only five short days until the wedding, and her parents are arriving at the Burrow the day after tomorrow. The extra two people in the house will only make it more difficult for her and Ginny's affair to go undiscovered. Fleur knows she has to decide soon, but the choices make the process nearly impossible. Bill can offer her protection, security, affection, and the promise of a good life. But Ginny offers Fleur the kind of love she's only dreamed of. A future with Ginny would be uncertain, but Fleur is unsure of how much security would matter in their case.

When Ginny and Fleur are not stealing quick bursts of affection from each other in closets and other secluded areas, Ginny lingers in Fleur's background expectantly, like a patient ghost. Fleur can see that this waiting period is torture for Ginny, and that Ginny is waiting on tenterhooks for when Fleur makes her decision. It is difficult for Fleur to watch the pained anticipation in Ginny's eyes wherever she goes.

Ginny is a mystery to Fleur. Half of her thinks she is attracted to the redhead because of her dynamic touch, but moments after the ferocious kisses, Fleur knows there's more to this than sex. Love has got something to do with it. It's strange to think that she may be in love. It's only been two days. But she's pretty sure it's real. She knows from the way Ginny takes her time with Fleur's body, savoring it. Savoring the tasted of her pale skin or the scent of her white-blonde hair. She knows from the way Ginny still holds her close even after she's fallen asleep, holding her tight like the grip of rigor mortis. She knows from the way Ginny's wide eyes always ask permission to touch. She knows from the way that when the sweat dries from her body, Ginny is still with her to help her back into her clothes. The way the desire in one girl's eyes make her feel more wanted than the same thing in the eyes of countless men ever could.

But in the dead of night, when Fleur is lying under the warmth of the sheets and Bill's arms, she wonders how it can be that he'll never know about Ginny. It's surreal when his strong hands touch her, and she wonders if he knows that another's tongue has painted fiery paths all along the same place mere minutes before. Or when he kisses her, mouth rough and searching, she wonders how he would react if he knew he was tasting the raw flavor of his sister's sex on Fleur's lips. When she lies stiff in Bill's bed, Wiping from her mouth substances from two different people, brother and sister, she knows she is a terrible person. Fleur gazes at the inky black sky outside the window and makes her choice.

* * *

It is late in the evening and the sun has just set behind the tree-lined horizon. All those staying at the Weasley house are gathered in the back yard, all seated comfortably along an incredibly long table. Paper lanterns bob overhead, casting a rosy glow on everything. Several people pick at the remnants of dinner on their plates, but most have forsaken the meal for contented chatter. Unlike at Hogwarts, the plates here don't magically disappear. The two kitchen duty volunteers, Ginny and Fleur, circle the table clearing dishes. As she liberates Bill's empty plate from in front of him, Fleur receives an affectionate peck on the lips from her fiancée. She pastes a warm grin on her face to return to him as she watches Harry Potter smile at Ginny across the table.

When all the dishes are returned to the kitchen, Ginny dumps her stack of plates in the sink and rotates on the ball of her foot to face Fleur. Ginny takes several slow steps towards her, a seductive smile hinting at the corners of her lips. They meet in the middle of the linoleum floor and bring their lips together slowly, connecting in a sultry open-mouthed kiss. Their chests are touching, brushing together with irresistible static. Ginny is just starting to slip her hand under Fleur's shirt when Fleur pulls back from the kiss. Fleur tilts back her head just a few inches, just enough so that she can still be close to Ginny but be able to look into her eyes at the same time. Ginny looks at Fleur questioningly, her hands restless.

"I 'ave decided," Fleur says quietly. Ginny takes a step back, grasping Fleur's hand in her own and giving it a squeeze. She doesn't bother asking what decision Fleur is talking about; it's clear from the tense anticipation on her face that she knows.

"Well?" Ginny asks anxiously. Fleur watches the redhead's shoulders quiver as she holds her breath.

Fleur grips Ginny's hand tightly. "I am going to marry Bill," she says firmly.

Ginny stares at Fleur in open-mouthed disbelief for a moment, her jaw slack. The she drops Fleur's hand and takes another step back. "What?" she says numbly. "How could you do this?"

"Ginny, please, let me explain-" Fleur begins, but Ginny shakes her head vigorously.

"I can't believe you would lead me on like that," Ginny exclaims in a choked voice. "After all that, I'm still not good enough?" Her lower lip begins to tremble, and hot tears spring to her wounded hazel eyes. Fleur's heart breaks.

She steps forward, reaching for Ginny's hand, but Ginny pulls away. "Please, if you would just let me explain-"

"You told me you loved me," Ginny cries, sorrow running down her face in rivers. "I never once lied to you when I said I loved you, but-"

Fleur steps forward and cuts Ginny off with a kiss. She kisses, her hard, desperately, with her hands pressed to the side of Ginny's face. Ginny stiffens, her arms at her side. She makes noises of protest into Fleur's mouth, but all they are to Fleur are vibrations against her throat. With her merciless tongue, Fleur punishes Ginny for putting her through this awful ordeal, for making her feel so guilty. Finally, Fleur pulls away, still gripping Ginny's face tightly with the palms of her hands. Ginny looks bewildered, eyes wide with confusion and tears still smearing her cheekbones. Fleur bores into her with a determined glare, not unlike the look she herself received after their first kiss.

"Ginny," she says slowly, "If we are to keep us a secret, I cannot stay part of ze family after leaving Bill, can I?" She pauses, searching for recognition in Ginny's eyes. "Zat would be suspicious." After a few seconds, Fleur's face gradually splits into a smile. Then, understanding dawns on Ginny's face, ecstatic disbelief in her eyes.

Ginny throws her arms around Fleur and hugs her tight. Fleur squeezes her eyes shut and holds Ginny as close as she possibly can, not caring about responsibility and expectations, not caring about anything but the beautiful person holding her tight. She never wants to go through hurting her ever again.

Ginny pulls back her head and looks into Fleur's eyes. Fleur smiles secretively and plants a delicate kiss on Ginny's lips.

"I love you," she whispers.

* * *

  
_**A/N:** Seriously, this is so fluffy it makes me gag! I think I might do a short sequel, set in the future, with lots of angst and stuff, back to my usual. Don't want to give too much away, but some really good ideas are forming... Keep an eye peeled. _;)


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